Wandering Cloud

The endless classics she read, 

The amaranthine love she felt in between the lines of her books,

The love she always searched for in her life, 

Never to be seen anywhere. 

And then he appeared to her like a wandering cloud, 

Illecebrous and magnetic, 

Offered her the downpour of love, 

Guiding her to the light of hope, 

And rejuvenating the soul. 


By Shreya Sharma

I read poems. Sometimes I write poems. And when I am doing nothing, I am sipping coffee.


  1. ΰ€Έΰ₯ΰ€‚ΰ€¦ΰ€° ΰ€­ΰ€΅ΰ€Ύΰ€­ΰ€Ώΰ€΅ΰ₯ΰ€―ΰ€•ΰ₯ΰ€€ΰ€ΏπŸ‘Œ


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